


you are the fire (and i am the chimney)

by ataxophilia



Category: The Hour
Genre: (or is it???), Drunkenness, F/M, Falling In Love, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Series, just freddie falling in love with bel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:55:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataxophilia/pseuds/ataxophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Tuesday night, the street is empty, and Bel Rowley is laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the fire (and i am the chimney)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm never going to stop crying about The Hour, so. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, of course.

Bel is laughing. The streetlights make her hair a bright, garish yellow, like she’s a picture in a children’s book, and her cheeks are flushed with cold, and she’s laughing like she can’t stop herself, one hand pressed against her mouth, her breath coming in chokes.

It’s Tuesday night, the street is empty, and Bel Rowley is laughing.

Freddie thinks he might be in love.

The thought stops him short. There’s enough alcohol in his system for the sudden halt to make him stumble, and Bel giggles sharply, her eyes folding into the laugh. “Oh,” Freddie says, mostly to himself.

"Freddie?" It’s clear Bel is trying to school her face into something more serious, but the corners of her eyes are still creased with a smile she can’t keep off her face.

Her lipstick is smudged and there is mascara on her cheek. Freddie’s heart thumps heavily. She’s the most beautiful thing he has seen in a long, long time. 

"I’m fine," Freddie tells her. He can’t look away from the curls brushing over her jawline.

Bel hiccups another quiet laugh and steps forward to press her hand to Freddie’s shoulder. “You’re not going to throw up, are you?” She sounds more amused than worried, but her fingers tighten ever so slightly when Freddie doesn’t reply straight away.

He loves her so much his whole body aches with it. He’s not quite sure how he’s missed it for so long. “No,” he says, and tries not to watch as her face relaxes back into a grin. “It takes more than a bottle of vodka to beat my stomach.”

That gets him another laugh, soft and fond and a little exasperated. “You’re ridiculous,” Bel informs him, leaning in close like she’s telling him a secret, like it’s not common knowledge that the whole of their friendship is based on a mutual aggravation. 

"You’re obnoxious," he snaps back. There’s no heat in his voice. Bel’s mouth curls into a smile. "And drunk." 

"Oh, Freddie." She lifts her hand to pat his cheek carefully. "So are you."

He opens his mouth to reply, but she’s not wrong, not even a little, and her smile goes smug because she knows it. The vodka was their own private celebration, a whole year of working together without killing each other, and they drank the whole bottle straight on the front steps of the studio after everyone else had gone home, taking it in turns to swallow and grimace until they’d finished the lot.

Instead, he pulls a face, pulls away from her hand. “We should get home,” he says.

Bel laughs again, then bites down on her lip, and leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, where her hand had been. 

"See you tomorrow, Freddie," she tells him, with one last smile, before turning and walking away.

Freddie’s cheek feels a little like it’s burning. There will be a smudge of red, he knows, just above his cheekbone, Bel’s lipstick sticking to his skin.

He drowns in his heartbeat the whole way home.


End file.
